


all i trust, i leave my heart to

by prettyoddnjh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - The Sound of Music, Angsty Schmoop, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Singing, World War II, but yeah she’s in it if you’re uncomfortable with that, eleanor is the baroness (so she’s kind of a bad guy), harry is maria, louis is captain von trapp, niall is uncle max, zayn and liam work in the mansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyoddnjh/pseuds/prettyoddnjh
Summary: Salzburg, Austria. 1938.Harry Styles is a young man who, despite his protests, will never be a Catholic priest. He is assigned a summer job as a governor for the six siblings of Mr. Tomlinson, a wealthy ex-navy soldier who runs his household like a navy ship. They fall in love.TheSound of MusicAU that a couple peopledidask for, if you can believe it.





	1. act i

**Author's Note:**

> here it is! my beloved sound of music au! i've loved this movie ever since i was a child, and i'd definitely recommend watching it if you haven't seen it before. it'll help you understand the story even more (though you should be able to get it without having seen the movie), and it's such a beautiful film.
> 
> thank you very much to [claire](http://devotedhazza.tumblr.com) and [abby](http://wlwharrie.tumblr.com) for beta-ing for me! i love y'all
> 
> i highly suggest listening to the soundtrack as you read - it really helps to set the mood!
> 
>  
> 
> **IMPORTANT: this fic takes place during the anschluss of world war ii. there are mentions of nazis and the nazi salute is said a few times by them. please read with caution if this might trigger you!**

Harry breathes in the fresh mountain air and closes his eyes. It’s an absolutely  _ gorgeous  _ day in June, and he  _ knows  _ he shouldn’t be out here – he  _ really  _ shouldn’t – but he just can’t help himself. Salzburg is beautiful this time of year, and he’ll be damned if he lets himself miss out on this day. The sun is high in the sky, warming Harry’s cheeks. The mountains rise above him in shades of blue, purple, and grey. A soft breeze blows around him, rippling the fabric of his clothes, and he’s never seen grass any greener than it is today.   
  
He does a twirl at the top of the hill and pushes his hair out of his face, stealing a glance down at the seminary. He’s supposed to be inside right now, and the stones that form the building glint in the sun as though they’re trying to convince him to go back. Then, he does another twirl. He breathes in the fresh air of the mountains, sees the beech trees he used to climb as a child, hears larks praying, and...  _ oh _ , how he wishes he could stay here like this forever!   
  
He hums a tune to himself, closing his eyes and spinning around and turning his face towards the sun once more. He can feel its warmth from his head to his toes. The Swiss Alps fill his heart with sounds of music and laughter, urging him to sing along. They’re more than just hills – they’re  _ alive _ . The flocks of birds in the beeches continue to squabble. He listens to the wind chimes and the breeze knocking the trees together and to a babbling brook, and his heart yearns to beat in time with them.   
  
He decides he’s going to explore a bit down the other side of the slope. Step by step, Harry walks on each stepping stone over the brook. He peers through the gap in between a few trees, humming and singing all the way and spotting a doe in the clearing. When he becomes tired, he lays down on the grass of the hillcrest and soaks up the sun again.   
  
His peaceful reverie is interrupted by bells sounding out from the seminary in the valley below. Harry finally realizes how long he’s been out here, and he rushes down the mountain.   
  
Into the seminary he goes, feet slamming into the cobblestone floors as he barrels through the corridors and hears the usual whispers from the other novitiates. They always seem to have something to say about him. By now, he knows to brush off their comments, but their words still sting.   
  
“He’s always late for chapel!”   
  
“He’d out-pester any pest!”   
  
“His clothes have got a tear!”    
  
“The only thing he isn’t late for is meals!”   
  
One of the seminary priests stops Harry in the hallway, and Harry nearly trips over his own feet in his effort to stop running.   
  
“Harry, the Reverend Father requested that you go to meet with him,” the man informs him.   
  
“Oh. Thank you,” Harry replies, smoothing out his shirt as he walks. (He notices that his shirt does, indeed, have a tear.) His heart rate keeps up its rapid pace as he goes towards the Reverend’s chambers.  _ What could he want with me? _

The novitiate escorting him knocks on the door.

“Reverend,” he announces, “Mr. Styles is here.”

“Please come in, Harry. Take a seat,” the Reverend Father says with a warm gesture. Harry does as he’s told.   
  
“I’m so sorry, Reverend, I really couldn’t help myself,” Harry sputters. “I love that mountain, and today was such a beautiful day to go out there—”   
  
“Harry,” he interrupts, but Harry doesn’t listen.   
  
“—there were birds singing and flowers blooming, and you  _ know  _ I would never get lost out there – I always stay within sight of the seminary – and I couldn’t stop  _ singing— _ ”   
  
“ _ Harry _ ,” he repeats, sterner this time.   
  
“Yes, Reverend?” asks Harry sheepishly.   
  
“In all honesty… I do not believe that you are prepared for our way of living here.”   
  
Harry’s heart sinks. He wrings his hands nervously - he’s been dreading this moment since the day he began his training. “But I really try, Reverend. I really do. And I pray.”   
  
The Reverend Father ponders on this for a moment. “Harry… what have you learned during your studies at the seminary?”   
  
“To follow God’s will,” Harry replies without missing a beat.   
  
“Well, Harry… it seems to be God’s will that you leave.”   
  
Harry frowns. His mouth drops open slightly, and he can feel tears welling up in his eyes. “But, Reverend, I  _ can’t  _ leave!” he pleads. “I  _ want  _ to devote my life to God.”   
  
“You will only be gone for a while. There is a former soldier outside Salzburg who was relieved of his service a few years ago when his mother died. She left him alone with her estate and her other children to watch over, and he is now in need of a caretaker for his six siblings until September. You will be their governor.”   
  
“ _ Six _ siblings?! But, R—!”   
  
“I have told Mr. Louis Tomlinson to expect you tomorrow. He is alone with the children and has had trouble keeping a governor in the past, though I expect you will be able to handle the situation. You will leave in the morning. Understood?”   
  
Feeling as though there aren’t any other options, Harry bows his head in shame. “Yes, Reverend Father.”   
  
Without another word, he exits the room.

—

The next morning, Harry holds a small suitcase in one hand and his guitar case in the other. He bids farewell to his fellow novitiates – though, if he’s speaking truthfully, it seems like they’re glad to see him go – and walks out into Salzburg with a positive outlook. For, according to what has always been told to him: when the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window. Harry must simply find the opening. Perhaps this job will be his window!   
  
As he makes his way along the patterned stone streets of the city, he takes in his surroundings. Antique buildings stand tall above him, and a large golden fountain glints nearby.

_ What will this day be like? _ he wonders. Working for Mr. Tomlinson could turn out to be so exciting! After all, he’s always wanted to live outside the walls of the seminary. And, the pay can’t be too bad – Mr. Tomlinson has a fair fortune in his possession. So… why does he still feel afraid? He begins to sing to himself, as he does when he needs a boost of confidence.

“ _ It could be so exciting / To be out in the world, to be free! _ ” he sings softly. People in the town square shoot him confused looks. “ _ My heart should be wildly rejoicing / Oh, what’s the matter with me? / I’ve always longed for adventure / To do the things I’ve never dared / Now here I am, facing adventure / Then why am I so scared? _ ”

He stops in his tracks and furrows his brow. “Really, Harry, what’s so fearsome about six children?” he mumbles to himself as he boards a bus to take him into the countryside. He  _ must  _ stop worrying about this so much.

When the bus drops him off at the dirt path outside the estate, Harry sees its gated entrance in the distance. His feet are shaking in his shoes, but he walks confidently to the beat of the song in his heart. Each step he takes and each note he sings brings him closer to leaving his worries behind.

“ _ Somehow I will impress them / I will be firm, but kind / And all those children, Heaven bless them / They will look up to me and mind me! / With each step I am more certain /  _ _ Everything will turn out fine / I have confidence the world can all be mine! / Besides which, you see, I have confidence in me! _ ”

By the time his song is over, he’s reached the looming gate of the residence. His heart is beating in his throat as he cautiously pulls the gate open and enters, shutting it behind him. It’s a massive property with a gleaming stone driveway and groomed spruce trees. The house itself is immense, more so than any house he’s ever seen. Not a sound can be heard other than a few chirping swallows and the soft breeze.

He knocks gently on the front door, all of his excitement and courage having vanished into the manicured foliage. A dark-haired man not any taller than Harry opens up.

“Good day!” Harry says with a bright smile, attempting to revive his determination. “I’m Harry Styles. I’m the governor from the seminary, Mr. Tomlinson.”   
  
“And I’m Zayn, the butler,” the man responds in monotone as he leads Harry into the house.   
  
Harry blushes at his mistake, but he pays no mind to it. “Well, how d’you do, Sir?”   
  
Zayn sighs. “Wait here, please.”   
  
He walks away, presumably to find Mr. Tomlinson, leaving Harry to his own devices. The foyer’s enormity makes it appear even emptier than it already is. A sparkling chandelier hangs above the tiled floors. Two steep staircases stand on either side of the doorway and lead the way to the indoor balcony framing the second floor. The balcony is held up by ornate white columns. Above all, though, Harry notices how silent it is, particularly for a building housing six children.

Against the butler’s wishes, Harry sets down his bags and begins to wander. He searches for any sign of life and stumbles upon a large door with gold framing. Curious as to whether anyone might be inside, he opens it. It creaks softly.

Inside is a gorgeous ballroom. It looks like it hasn’t been used in ages, and a layer of dust has settled over the beautifully decorated walls and ceiling. He can practically hear the Laendler beginning to play, picturing hundreds of people dressed in lavish gowns and tailored suits filling up the room.   
  
He bows to an imaginary partner.   
  
“In the future, you’d be wise to remember that there are certain rooms in this house which are not to be disturbed,” says a disembodied voice. Interesting - Harry hadn’t thought his imaginary partner could say anything to him.   
  
He jolts back up to a standing position, assuming his best posture.

“Yes, Officer, Sir,” he stammers. He stares at the man – who must certainly be Mr. Louis Tomlinson – with poorly-concealed fear in his eyes.

The young man is a stunning figure, with neat brown hair, blue eyes, and chiseled features. A shining silver whistle hangs on a thin chain around his neck. His face is clean-shaven, he’s very attractive, and he can’t be all that much older than Harry, who is going on twenty-two. He is, however, glaring distastefully at Harry in such a way that Harry feels unnerved and admittedly a bit terrified of him.   
  
Harry was forced to repress his homosexuality when he started training as a priest (he’d likely be banished from the seminary if anyone found out, and if the wrong people found out... Harry doesn’t want to know what the NSDAP would do to him). However, if being a priest means that Harry isn’t allowed to be attracted to the intimidating, yet striking Mr. Tomlinson, then maybe the Reverend Father was right. Maybe he  _ isn’t _ meant to be a priest, after all.   
  
“Why are you staring at me that way?” Mr. Tomlinson asks, beckoning for Harry to leave the deserted ballroom. The door closes loudly behind them.   
  
Harry clears his throat nervously. He’s become lost in his thoughts and rapidly thinks of a convincing lie to tell the man. “You don’t look like an ex-soldier.”   
  
The man’s expression is unreadable when he retorts, “You don’t look very much like a governor. Now,” he orders, and Harry catches an eye roll as Louis turns on his heel out of the ballroom, “take that hat off and change into some other clothes before you meet the children.”   
  
“I don’t have any other clothes, Sir. When one goes into training, one must give all of their worldly clothes away to the poor.”   
  
“And what about those clothes?”   
  
Harry’s cheeks flush. “The poor didn’t want these. I can make my own clothes, though! I only need materials,” he says eagerly.   
  
Mr. Tomlinson nods. “Now, Mr.…”   
  
“—Styles. Harry Styles.”   
  
“Mr. Styles. You are the twelfth person to look after my siblings, and I expect that you stay longer than the last one; she was here for merely two hours. Discipline is vital with them. They will march every afternoon and bedtime is to be strictly adhered to. Do not let them dream the summer away.” Louis’ expression remains solemn and unchanging as he gives out orders.

“When do the children play?” Harry asks.

“Play?” Louis scoffs. “Mr. Styles, my siblings do not  _ play _ .”

Harry’s face contorts into a look of confusion. “Pardon my asking, Mr. Tomlinson, Sir, but what do you mean they don’t play? They’re children!”

“I do not wish to speak about this with you, Mr. Styles. You are the governor. You will do as I say.”

Mr. Tomlinson blows the whistle hanging around his neck. Six children rush out of their rooms and trip over each other as they hurry to make a straight line and march down the staircase, keeping in perfect time with the rhythmic tweets from Louis’ whistle. Their clothes are very drab, Harry notes, and look exactly the same. Their dull, grey similarity reminds him of uniforms. They form a line, tallest to shortest, in front of Harry and Louis. Then, they stop, puffing out their chests and holding their chins high while regarding their brother, who is standing proudly next to Harry, with held-back shoulders and pigeon-toed feet.   
  
“Children, this is your new governor, Mr. Harry Styles. Introduce yourselves when you hear your whistle.” He turns to Harry. “This is how you will call them when you need them.”   
  
One by one, they stomp forward to say their names after a specific sequence of whistles, then step back into place.   
_   
_ _ Tweet-tweet-tweet. _ “Charlotte.”   
  
_ Tweet. _ “Félicité.”   
  
_ Twee-eet, twee-eet. _ “Phoebe.”   
  
_ Twee-eet. _ “Daisy.”   
  
_ Tweet-tweet. _ “Ernest.”   
  
_ Twee-ee-ee-eet.  _ The last child, a very small girl, messily steps forward after a few attempts from Louis to get her to recognize her tone. She doesn’t say her name.   
  
Louis’ expression softens. He sighs and adds, “That is Doris, Ernest’s twin sister.”   
  
Harry waves to her. She blushes and darts her head down.   
  
“Now, listen to what your whistle sounds like, Mr. St—”   
  
“Couldn’t you just call me by my  _ name _ , Mr. Tomlinson, Sir?”   
  
Mr. Tomlinson looks very annoyed at the prospect of this. Calmly, he responds, “I suppose so. And you may call me Sir.”   
  
He leaves, and Harry is alone with the children, who are still standing in a perfect line with perfect posture.   
  
“At ease,” Harry tells them, and they look relieved to no longer have to stand in that uncomfortable form. “Now, erm… could you maybe repeat your names again, and how old you are? And, uh… oh, I don’t know, maybe something about yourselves?”   
  
The eldest child, a very pretty young lady with grey eyes and brown hair like Louis’, steps forward. “I’m Charlotte. I’m sixteen years old, and I  _ don’t  _ need a governor,” she says determinedly.   
  
Harry raises his eyebrows. “Alright. Well, then, I suppose we’ll just be friends.”   
  
Charlotte looks like that wasn’t the answer she was expecting.   
  
The second-eldest girl, who has slightly darker hair and greener eyes than most of Mr. Tomlinson’s siblings, steps forward next. “I’m Félicité and I’m fourteen. Our last two governesses told me that I’m impossible.”   
  
Harry snickers, and the children move along down the line. Phoebe is ten and would like a pink parasol for her next birthday. Harry tells her that pink is his favorite color, too. Daisy is Phoebe’s twin (which is quite obvious – Harry is going to have some trouble telling them apart), and she thinks Harry’s clothes are the ugliest she’s ever seen (though her siblings disagreed – apparently a previous governess’ clothes were uglier). Ernest is five and has shaggy blond hair.   
  
“And what’s your name again?” he asks the youngest Tomlinson sibling. She has beautiful ginger curls.   
  
“Doris,” she says softly, holding up five fingers.   
  
“And you’re five years old?”   
  
She nods.   
  
“My, you’re practically a lady!”   
  
Doris blushes.   
  
Harry stands once more before all of the children. “Well, children, I must confess something to you: I’ve never been a governor before.”   
  
The Tomlinsons look at each other and smirk. They form a tight crowd around him, tugging at his clothes and rattling off things that Harry should do in order to be the best governor: arrive late to dinner, always interrupt their studies, treat Mr. Tomlinson with the utmost disrespect… all the essentials.   
  
A brown-haired, brown-eyed man donning an apron enters from one of the second-floor rooms, stopping about halfway down the staircase to Harry’s left. “Children, it’s time for your walk. You’d better hurry; Louis’ orders.”   
  
The children quickly file outside. Harry begins to walk towards the other man when he feels something moving in one of his pockets. He fishes a hand into his pocket and finds a toad that jumps out and makes Harry yelp, but he pretends to ignore it as it follows the children outside.   
  
“I’m Mr. Styles,” Harry says to the man in front of him.   
  
“I am Mr. Payne. I’m the housekeeper.” Mr. Payne chuckles, motioning for Harry to follow him upstairs. “You’re lucky, you know. The last governess found a snake in her pocket.”   
  
Harry shudders at the thought, and the housekeeper shows him to his new room.

—

Harry arrives at dinner with a smile on his face. So far, his day at the Tomlinson estate hasn’t been terrible, but he  _ is  _ apprehensive about eating a meal with the family. Mr. Tomlinson is very intimidating, not to mention the fact that the children have a reputation of being little menaces, and he’d like to make a good impression.

He walks towards his seat at the far end of the table and sits down. He can tell that all of the Tomlinsons are watching him, so he makes an attempt to appear calm and collected. Something sharp (and decidedly not the smooth satin of Mr. Tomlinson’s lavish chairs) pokes his bottom and he stands up with a yelp, checking to see what might be there. The children snicker and try to hide their smiles.   
  
On his seat sits a large pinecone.   
  
Harry tries his best to not to look at Louis as he discretely removes the pinecone from his chair and takes a seat. His cheeks flush. The children are still laughing quietly. He then takes a deep breath, puts his napkin in his lap, and finally dares to look at Louis.   
  
“Good evening,” Louis says to him with a deadpan expression. Harry can feel his disinterest resonating across the large dining table.   
  
“Good evening,” Harry replies.   
  
The children murmur their welcomes and begin placing their napkins in their laps.   
  
“That was an enchanting little ritual,” Mr. Tomlinson tells Harry, referencing Harry’s leap from his seat. His voice contains just enough sarcasm that his siblings won’t notice. “Something you learned at the seminary?” He cocks an eyebrow like he’s egging Harry on.   
  
Harry scoffs quietly at his plate, not taking kindly to being mocked.   
  
“No,” he retorts with a forced, artificial smile plastered across his face. At the moment, he’s barely worried about Mr. Tomlinson seeing that he’s annoyed with him. “It’s a… medical problem. Nothing to be concerned about.”   
  
“Ah.” Louis looks as though he doesn’t believe a word Harry’s saying.   
  
All but Harry begin eating. He looks around expectantly for someone to stop the others, but when no one does, he decides to speak up.   
  
“Pardon me for asking, Sir, but we’ve forgotten to thank the Lord.”   
  
Louis shoots Harry a sharp look down the table, but he reaches out to link hands with the children next to him. His hands join with Charlotte’s on his right and Daisy’s on his left. Reluctantly, little Ernest takes Harry’s hand, and Félicité sighs before doing the same.   
  
“For what we are about to receive,” Harry says after they’ve all joined hands and bowed their heads, “may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.”   
  
“Amen,” everyone repeats.   
  
They eat at last. The table is completely silent, save for the clinking of their forks against their plates and the muted sound of people chewing. Harry’s not sure he’s ever been at a meal as dull as this one.   
  
“I’d like to thank you all for the gift you left in my pocket earlier today,” Harry finally says, merely stealing a glance up from his food to see some of the children’s heads whip upward. He smirks to himself.   
  
“What gift?” Mr. Tomlinson asks impatiently. Harry can tell that he’s becoming more cross with him, but Harry hardly minds it.   
  
Harry swallows his food, choosing his words carefully.

“Oh, I’m not sure I can tell you,” he replies. “It’s a secret between me and the children.”   
  
Louis huffs and tightens his grip on his fork. He’s nearly as irritated as Harry at this point. “Then I suggest you keep it a secret, and let us e—”   
  
Harry, however, remains calm. He speaks smoothly and sweetly, though the sarcasm in his voice bleeds through his facade. “Knowing how  _ nervous  _ I must have been, a  _ stranger  _ in a foreign household… it was so kind of you all to welcome me so heartily.” He glares at the children on one side of the table.   
  
Some of the Tomlinsons begin to sniffle, and Louis’ eyes dart frantically from left to right. The younger ones cry audibly, Harry having made them feel very guilty about their inhospitality thus far. Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat and stares at his lap; he hadn’t intended to make any of them upset.   
  
“Mr. Styles, is this going to happen at  _ every  _ meal, or is it reserved only for dinnertime?” Mr. Tomlinson queries, his tone defensive.   
  
“They’re just happy,” Harry replies. Both of their voices drip with sarcasm and distaste.   
  
Louis scoffs, and the table continues their meal in silence until the butler peeks into the room around the corner of the detailed wallpaper.   
  
Louis’ expression softens when he sees the butler, and he smiles a bit. Harry thinks it’s a wonder that Louis is capable of being kind and having friends.

“What is it, Zayn?” Louis asks in a cheery tone. Charlotte sits up in her chair.   
  
“You’ve received a telegram,” Zayn informs him.   
  
“May I ask who sent it?” Charlotte – the oldest girl who’s going on seventeen, Harry remembers – asks.   
  
“Er… it was that young lad, Rolf.”   
  
Charlotte’s cheeks turn rosy. “Louis, may I be excused?”   
  
He nods dismissively, and she gets up quickly. Harry tries his best to hide his smirk. Charlotte’s brother may not have noticed her little crush, but Harry certainly has.   
  
“Children… Harry…” Louis begins, a pinch of salt added to his tone when he says Harry’s name, “I will be leaving for Vienna in the morning.”   
  
Immediately, his siblings begin to whine and complain. Mr. Tomlinson hushes them.   
  
“I am going to visit Baroness Calder.” The children groan. “However, when I return, I will be bringing her and Uncle Niall with me.”   
  
This makes the children very excited; Harry notes that they’re all very fond of Uncle Niall.   
  
Their discussion dies down, and Harry decides to keep to himself for the rest of dinner. When they finish eating, Harry heads up to his new room to get ready for bed.

—

An unexpected storm arrives later in the evening, after night has fallen. Thunder and lightning rattle Harry’s windows. Rain pours down outside as Harry changes into his pinstripe pajamas and thinks of what he could do with the old curtains in his room, which are to be replaced tomorrow.  _ Maybe I could turn them into play-clothes for the children _ , he thinks.  _ It’s awfully sad that they don’t own any play-clothes. _ _   
_   
He also thinks about what the housekeeper, Liam, told him about Baroness Calder. Apparently, Mr. Tomlinson is thinking quite seriously about marrying her, since her wealth could help him keep the estate up and running. Harry thinks it’s lovely that the children will have a sort of maternal figure in their lives again, should Mr. Tomlinson follow through with his plans.   
  
He kneels beside his bed and begins to pray.   
  
“Dear Father, it’s clear why you sent me away from the seminary: to prepare these children for their life with Baroness Calder. And I pray that this will be a very happy family indeed. God bless Mr. Tomlinson. God bless Charlotte, and Félicité, and Phoebe, Ernest, and Doris. And… oh, dear Father, it seems I’ve forgotten the other girl’s name – Phoebe’s twin… well, God bless Phoebe’s twin. God bless everyone at the seminary, as well.”   
  
Just then, in climbs Charlotte, soaking wet from the storm outside. Harry suspects she’s just returned from her meeting with Rolf, the telegram boy. She’s trying to sneak in unnoticed. He continues his prayer.   
  
“And now, God, about Charlotte.” She halts in place, and a loud clap of thunder shakes the room. “Let her know that I’m her friend, and that she doesn’t have to sneak in through my window, and that she should certainly tell me what she’s been up to. Amen.” He finally turns to look at her.   
  
“Oh, Mr. Styles, you won’t tell Louis, will you?” she begs.   
  
“Please, call me Harry. How on Earth did you get up here?”   
  
“Well, I saw that your window was open, and I didn’t want to wake everybody, so I climbed up. It’s how we get up here to trick all our caretakers.”   
  
“Oh.” Harry rolls his eyes. “How lovely.” He looks Charlotte up and down. “Were you out walking all by yourself?”   
  
She begins to nod, then gives in and shakes her head.   
  
“Why don’t we do this: you can go into the bathroom and change—” Harry stands up and hands her a clean nightgown he found in the wardrobe earlier. “—and then you can tell me what you were doing out there.”   
  
“Okay.”   
  
Charlotte begins to walk towards the bathroom, but stops before closing the door.   
  
“Harry, I… I know I said I didn’t need a governor, but… maybe I was wrong.”   
  
She closes the door.   
  
Harry shuts the window, checks the bed for any more “gifts” from the children, and finishes putting what little clothes he has into the wardrobe before Charlotte emerges from the bathroom. They sit on the bed together.   
  
“Well, you see, Harry, there’s this… boy,” she begins. “His name is Rolf, and he delivers telegrams to Father. And he’s a bit older than me — I’m going on seventeen, and he’s going on eighteen — and he’s the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. And we went out into the garden and talked… and, well…” She lowers her voice. “He  _ kissed me _ ! That’s my first kiss.”   
  
Harry’s face blossoms into a wide grin. “That’s lovely, Charlotte!”   
  
She nods enthusiastically. “Hopefully, Louis will get another telegram soon so I can see him again.”   
  
A deafening boom of thunder resonates throughout the house. Little Doris comes running into Harry’s room and tells him she’s scared.   
  
“Oh, you poor thing,” he says. “Come, join your sister and I.”   
  
Doris runs over to the bed and into Harry’s arms. He gives the little girl a warm embrace.   
  
“Are your other siblings coming?” Harry asks her.   
  
She shakes her head. “No. They aren’t scared.”   
  
Soon, Félicité runs into the room, holding Ernest in her arms as another flash of lightning and rumble of thunder sound out.   
  
“Will the other twins be joining us, too?” Harry asks. He beckons for the newcomers to jump onto the bed.   
  
“They aren’t scared, either,” Doris tells him.   
  
Right on cue, Phoebe and…  _ Daisy _ , Harry remembers, hurry into the room and onto the bed.   
  
“Daisy! That’s who I forgot,” Harry says. “God bless Daisy!”   
  
The storm rattles the windows again. Some of the younger children cry out in fright. Harry isn’t sure what to do to calm them down. Then, he thinks of something.   
  
“Erm… children, do you know what I do when I’m scared or sad?” he asks them.   
  
They all lean towards him, eager to hear what he has to say.   
  
“I like to think about my favorite things! Sometimes, I sing about them, too.”   
  
“What kind of things are your favorite things?” Phoebe asks.   
  
“Well… let’s see… raindrops on roses! And whiskers on kittens.” He lightly pinches her cheek. “Bright copper kettles and warm, woolen mittens.” He takes Ernest’s hands in his own. “Hey, that rhymed! I told you, sometimes it helps to sing.”   
  
“Then sing it!” Félicité says.   
  
“ _ Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens / Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens / Brown paper packages tied up with strings / These are a few of my favorite things _ ,” he sings softly. Doris snuggles closer to him. “ _ Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels / Doorbells and sleigh-bells and schnitzel with noodles / Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings / These are a few of my favorite things. _ ”   
  
The tempest grows ever louder, continuing to frighten the children, so Harry decides to keep singing to ease their fears.   
  
“ _ Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes / Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes. _ ” He taps Phoebe’s nose with his finger. “ _ Silver white winters that melt into springs / These are a few of my favorite things _ .   
  
“ _ When the dog bites / When the bee stings / When I’m feeling sad / I simply remember my favorite things / And then I don’t feel so bad! _ ”   
  
The Tomlinson children cuddle closer to Harry, though it doesn’t seem like they’re very scared anymore. However, it does give them quite a fright when they hear, “I thought I stated  _ very  _ explicitly that my brother and sisters’ bedtimes were to be  _ strictly  _ observed.”   
  
Harry looks up and – of course – sees the handsome Mr. Tomlinson standing before him.   
  
“I’m terribly sorry, Sir,” he apologizes. “They came running in here because they were scared of the thunderstorm.”   
  
“I appreciate you trying to make them feel better, but I am afraid they are going to have to go to bed now. Run along, children.”   
  
Reluctantly, they exit the room and return to their respective quarters. Louis turns to leave, but Harry stops him.   
  
“Mr. Tomlinson, Sir,” he says. Louis faces him. “I don’t mean to impose, but… why don’t you let your siblings play… or sing? I fear they’re not treated like children.”   
  
Louis’ expression becomes angry, then softens. “I…I-I certainly treat them like children, Mr. Styles!”   
  
“Harry.”   
  
“ _ Harry _ . I simply… need to be a parental figure to them, since Mum is no longer here. They have to take me seriously.” He clears his throat. “I’m not sure why I’m talking about this with you.” He stiffens. “You are just the governor.”   
  
Harry brushes the comment aside. Louis leaves, closing the door behind him.

—

The next day, after Harry has worked all night making play clothes for the Tomlinson children using his curtains, he takes the children into Salzburg to play and explore. He brings them to all of the most exciting places and to the places he used to love to visit as a child. The Tomlinsons seem to be having plenty of fun, and it warms Harry’s heart.   
  
Around lunchtime, Harry brings them to a beautiful hill – not far from the hill he used to sneak out to when he was living at the seminary – to eat lunch and rest for a short time.   
  
“Harry, can we do this every day?” Ernest asks.   
  
“…Maybe every other day, dear,” he responds. “You don’t want to wear yourselves out.”   
  
The little boy nods. Harry finishes his sandwich and takes out his guitar, making sure it’s tuned before asking, “Have any of you a song in mind that you’d like to sing for Baroness Calder when she arrives? I think she’d really appreciate it.”   
  
“We don’t know any songs,” Félicité tells him.   
  
“ _ None _ ?”   
  
All six children shake their heads. One speaks up to inform him that Louis doesn’t like them to sing.   
  
Harry frowns. “Do you know  _ how  _ to sing?”   
  
Another wave of shaking heads ensues.   
  
“Well… why don’t we start at the very beginning? After all, that’s the best place to start anything. When you learn to read or count, you begin with ‘A, B, C’ and ‘One, two, three,’ correct?”   
  
Six heads nod.   
  
“There’s a sort of alphabet that comes with singing, as well, and I want you to listen carefully.” He clears his throat. “ _ Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti! _ ”   
  
The Tomlinson children stare at him with blank looks.   
  
“Erm… let me see if I can make this a little easier.” He gently places his fingers on the neck of the guitar, finding the right chords.   
  
“ _ Do, a deer, a female deer / Re, a drop of golden sun / Mi, a name I call myself / Fa, a long, long way to run / So, a needle pulling thread / La, a note to follow So / Ti, I drink with jam and bread / That will bring us back to Do. _ ”   
  
The children’s eyes widen.   
  
“Is it really that easy?” Charlotte asks.   
  
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Harry replies happily.   
  
Excited at the prospect of learning to sing, the children urge Harry to teach them further. All through the rest of the afternoon – as well as throughout the rest of the two weeks that Mr. Tomlinson is away – Harry shows the children how to sing and how to add words to the music. They go on adventures in the countryside, having more picnics and riding rowboats in the lake and picking berries.   
  
On one particular day, Harry asks the children if they’d like to pick apples along the road by their estate.   
  
“Of course!” a chorus of little voices replies.   
  
“Well, what are you waiting for?” He takes Doris’ hand. “Follow me!”

—

Louis has been worrying about his siblings during the entirety of his stay in Vienna with Baroness Calder, and although he’s returning home, today is no exception. He’s desperately trying not to let his preoccupation show in front of the woman he plans to marry; after all, she’s got quite a lot of money that could help Louis maintain his mum’s estate.   
  
“Your home is stunning!” Eleanor comments from the passenger seat. “The mountains are really breathtaking.”   
  
Louis nods and hums in agreement, keeping his eyes on the road.   
  
“Well, you know Louis,” Niall adds from the backseat. “He really knows how to  _ rise  _ to the occasion.”   
  
“I could easily disinvite you from my home, Niall.”   
  
“Noted. But I did invite my _ self _ so that I could scout out a new singing group… and so I could chaperone the two of you.”   
  
“ _ Niall _ .” Louis huffs and tries to stay concentrated on the road as he wonders what his brother and sisters have been up to. He’s not sure he trusts the charming new governor with his siblings.   
  
_ Charming _ ?  _ Does  _ Louis think Harry is charming? He shrugs off the thought.   
  
They drive past a grove of apple trees along the road that have children hanging out of them, laughing and singing. Louis nearly stops the car.  _ Are those my brother and sisters?! _ _   
_   
“What’s this?” Eleanor asks him.   
  
“Er… just some local urchins, probably looking to steal some fruit.”   
  
When they arrive at the Tomlinson estate, Louis shows Eleanor to the garden. Unsure of what to do to impress her, he holds out his arm for her to hold on to.   
  
“It’s beautiful here,” she comments. “It’s nice to see you in your ‘natural habitat,’ so to speak. You seem much more at home.”   
  
“I am,” he chuckles. “I love it here.”   
  
“Why would you ever leave?”   
  
“Oh, I don’t know, possibly to see you?” he jokes. In truth, Louis doesn’t like how much his home reminds him of his mother. Music, dancing, the countryside… it’s all too much for him.   
  
“Louis?”   
  
“I’m sorry. I got a bit lost in my head. Come, the kitchen staff have prepared us a bite to eat.”   
  
They sit down at the dining area beside the house. Niall and Eleanor have a conversation off to the side, and Louis sees a boy throwing rocks at Charlotte’s window.   
  
“Oi!” he calls out, walking over to the other side of the deck’s dining area. “What do you think you’re doing?!”   
  
“I—I’m, er — I was looking for L— I mean…” The boy salutes and shouts “Heil Hitler!”, which perturbs Louis to no end. Louis has no tolerance for German nationalists.   
  
“Who the hell are you?” Louis asks, anger seeping out from every word.   
  
“I’m Rolf. I have a telegram for Mr. Horan.”   
  
Niall strides over. “That would be me.”   
  
The boy hands Niall the telegram.   
  
“You’ve done your job. Leave,” Louis orders. When Rolf appears hesitant to go, Louis points towards the road. “ _ Now _ !”   
  
He runs towards his bicycle and pedals away. Louis rubs his temples and sighs.   
  
“He’s only a boy,” Niall tells him.   
  
“And I’m only a faithful Austrian!” Louis snaps back. “I won’t allow  _ anyone  _ hailing fascists on my property. I don’t give a damn about how old he is!”   
  
Still fuming, Louis notices a small rowboat riding towards the dock at the far edge of the garden. When he walks closer, he sees that his siblings – along with Harry – are piled into the rowboat, giggling and caroling like infants. He storms over to the dock.   
  
“Louis!” a chorus of voices squeals. He’s glad that his brother and sisters are alright and are happy to see him, but his sour mood hasn’t shifted, even upon seeing them.   
  
“Sir, you’re back!” Harry exclaims with a wide, dimpled grin. He stands up and the boat flips, tossing all of its occupants into the water.   
  
Louis blows his whistle. “ _ Children _ ! I want  _ everyone  _ back inside at  _ once _ ! And get changed out of your wet clothes!”   
  
All six of them rush out of the water and into the house, some of them waving hurriedly to Eleanor as they pass.   
  
“Oh, you must be Baroness Calder!” Harry says, clearly not catching onto the fact that Louis is in a very foul mood.   
  
Eleanor tells Louis she’s going to find Niall again.   
  
“Harry, have my siblings been climbing trees today?”   
  
“Erm… yes, Sir.”   
  
“In clothes that appear to be made from your old curtains?”   
  
Harry looks at the ground. “Yes, Sir.”   
  
“You will look me in the eyes when you speak to me.”   
  
He looks up, a pair of stunning green eyes now staring back at Louis. “I’m really sorry, Sir, but they were having such a good time!”   
  
“They have  _ uniforms _ , Harry.”   
  
“I know! Believe me, I know. But they’re  _ children _ . They can’t play if they have to worry about getting their fine clothes dirty.”   
  
Louis crosses his arms. “I have never heard a complaint from them before.”   
  
“That’s because they love you too much! And they  _ fear  _ you too much. I know they were young when your mother died, but they had to grieve, as well, and they’re coping just fine! Meanwhile, you’re robbing them of their childhood—”   
  
“I will  _ not  _ let you tell me how to raise my own brother and sisters!”   
  
Harry ignores him. “Charlotte, for example—”   
  
“Don’t you say a  _ word  _ about Charlotte.” Louis’ voice cracks mid-sentence.   
  
“—She’s a young woman now, Sir, and she needs –  _ wants  _ – guidance from you to know how the world works! And Félicité has such a bright mind, but you’d never notice—”   
  
“That is enough!”   
  
“I’m not finished, Sir!”   
  
“Yes, you are, Sir!” Louis realizes his mistake and clears his throat, not missing the smug smirk that crosses the governor’s face. “ _ Harry _ . Please, pack up your things and return to the seminary. I will not have you stay here any l…” He pauses. “Who’s singing?”   
  
A chorus of voices sounds from inside the house. Louis’ eyes water. He remembers this song from his childhood.   
  
“Your brother and sisters are, Sir,” Harry says softly. “I taught them a song to sing for the Baroness.”   
  
Louis leaves Harry dripping wet in the garden and walks hurriedly inside.   
  
“…  _ To laugh like a brook when it trips and falls / Over stones on its way _ ,” he watches his siblings sing. They sound wonderful.   
  
“ _ To sing through the night / Like a lark who is learning to pray / I go to the hills when my heart is lonely / I know I will hear what I’ve heard before _ …”   
  
“ _ My heart will be blessed with the sound of music _ ,” Louis sings along softly. “ _ And I’ll sing once more _ .”   
  
Eleanor notices him standing in the doorway. She opens her mouth to speak, but Louis stops her and says, “Excuse me for a moment, Eleanor.”   
  
He leaves, wandering through the massive household to find a more secluded place. When he finds it, he sits down and begins to sob, burying his face in his hands.   
  
“Mr. Tomlinson, Sir?” he hears a voice say after several minutes. He knows it to be Harry’s voice, and he can’t believe how mortifying this is. He doesn’t look up.   
  
“You never got a chance to grieve your mother, did you?” Louis feels him sit down on the loveseat next to him. He reluctantly shakes his head.   
  
“I… I had to stay strong for my brother and sisters. They can’t see me cry.”   
  
Harry chuckles. “I suppose that’s what I’m here for, then.”   
  
“I suppose so.”   
  
Louis sniffles, finally making eye contact with Harry. “Please don’t return to the seminary. My siblings – they adore you. I behaved inappropriately earlier. I apologize.”   
  
“And I’m too outspoken for my own good. I’m quite sorry, too.”   
  
“But… you were right. I don’t know them at all anymore.” Louis wipes away the remaining tears on his cheeks.   
  
“Sir, it doesn’t make you any less of a man to cry, you know.” He hesitantly takes Louis’ handkerchief and dabs at the corner of one of his eyes, where a teardrop still clings, then hands the cloth back to him. “And, anyway, you’ve barely reached twenty-five! Your brother and sisters are all young children. You have plenty of time to get to know them again, and they love you so much.”   
  
Louis nods. “And… you brought music back into my home. I had forgotten how beautiful it was.”   
  
“If I can ever be of any help—”   
  
“You have already been of great help.” Louis puts a reassuring hand on Harry’s forearm. “More than you know.”

—

About a week later, Louis sits in front of a large puppet theater that Niall bought for the children. (He’s constantly spoiling them, and Louis isn’t fond of this practice.) His siblings are about to perform a puppet show orchestrated by Harry.   
  
He watches lovingly as the children sing a folktale about a lonely goatherd and put on a show with detailed marionettes. They are, Louis notices, accompanied by Harry, who has the best voice out of any of them. It’s a gravelly baritone full of joy, and Louis isn’t sure he’s ever heard a sound quite as lovely.   
  
Louis claps and whistles at the end. Doris, Ernest, Daisy, Phoebe, Félicité, Charlotte, and Harry all beam back at him and bow together.   
  
“Uncle Niall, can we keep the puppet show?  _ Please _ ?” Félicité begs.   
  
“Of course!” Niall looks Louis in the eyes and grins like the devil, his eyebrows bouncing on his forehead. “I wouldn’t have sent the bill to Louis if I’d intended otherwise.”   
  
Louis contains his anger and decides he’ll deal with Niall later.   
  
“Did you enjoy the show?” Harry asks.   
  
“Yes. Very well done, Harry.” Louis’ smile is wide.    
  
“I must say, I’m impressed,” Eleanor adds. Frankly, Louis had forgotten she was there. “Is there anything you can’t do?”   
  
Harry furrows his brow and bites his lip, deep in thought. It’s a simple and endearing and makes Louis’ expression soften.   
  
“I don’t think I’d make a very good priest,” Harry says at last. Louis snickers.   
  
“Attention! I have an announcement,” Niall shouts, interrupting their conversation. “I’ve found a group to perform for me in the Salzburg Folk Festival. The Tomlinson Family Singers!”   
  
“ _ No _ .” Louis steps towards him. He intends to shut this down before it’s even begun. “Niall, I won’t allow it, and that’s final.”   
  
While Louis argues with Niall, Harry asks the children who they’d like to see perform next. They gather in a clump around him, whispering among one another.   
  
Sheepishly, Harry grabs his guitar and holds it out in front of Louis. “Sir, your siblings… they’d like to see  _ you  _ perform next.”   
  
Louis’ mouth falls open a bit. His eyes drift between Harry and the instrument.   
  
“Harry, I… I haven’t sung in ages.” He lowers his voice so that only the governor can hear. “Not since Mum died.”   
  
“But you used to be so good!” Charlotte says. “I remember.”   
  
“So do I,” Félicité adds.   
  
“I’d love to hear you sing, Louis,” Eleanor says.   
  
Louis looks up from the floor to meet Harry’s gaze. Harry gives him a warm smile and nods at him, holding the guitar out further. It’s Harry’s encouraging look that convinces Louis to take the instrument and sit on the sofa to make sure it’s tuned.   
  
“This is a song our mum used to sing to me.” He clears his throat. “ _ Edelweiss, edelweiss / Every morning you greet me / Small and white, clean and bright… _ ” He looks up for just a moment and happens to meet Harry’s gaze. “ _ You look happy to meet me / Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow / Bloom and grow forever / Edelweiss, edelweiss / Bless my homeland forever. _ ”   
  
When he looks up, resting his arms on top of the guitar, Louis sees that everyone’s eyes are fixed solely on him.   
  
“That was really beautiful, Louis,” Harry comments. “I can’t believe you tried to tell us you couldn’t sing.”   
  
Eleanor and Niall – as well as Louis’ brother and sisters – nod in agreement. Louis feels his cheeks turning pink.   
  
“Louis, listen to me,” Niall says, getting up. “You  _ have  _ to let your siblings perform at the folk festival. You can join them! The Tomlinson Family Singers wouldn’t be complete without you.”   
  
“Enough is enough, Niall,” Louis says, his mood turning sour. “I told you no, and you will abide by my rules if I am to let you stay in my home. Understood?”   
  
Niall rolls his eyes dramatically, but he nods.   
  
“Louis, I have a wonderful idea!” Eleanor cuts in. “Why don’t you throw a party for me? The whole house can be filled with music and dancing! I’ll finally be able to meet all of your friends.”   
  
Louis ponders on the thought. “A party?” There haven’t been any parties in his house since long before his mother fell ill. Why, the youngest twins hadn’t even been born yet… Louis had been about sixteen.   
  
“You  _ must  _ throw a party, Louis!” Doris says, her voice ringing with excitement. She runs over and tugs on the leg of his trousers.   
  
Louis sighs, never able to say no to the little girl. “Alright. I suppose we can throw a party.”   
  
The older girls whisper to each other and to Harry, while the younger children prance happily.   
  
“Children!” Louis claps his hands. “Time for bed. Say goodnight.”   
  
One by one, they bid farewell to Eleanor, Niall, and Harry before giving their brother hugs and running off to their rooms.   
  
When they’re all tucked in for the night, Louis goes to his own room to get some rest. After all, he now has a party to plan.

—

For the first time in many years, the ballroom door is open and the Tomlinson household is bustling with guests. A band plays an elegant jazz tune, the women don sparkling gowns and jewelry, and the men impress in tailored suits. A beautiful Austrian flag hangs from the second-floor balcony indoors. It reminds Louis of his childhood and of a book he read not so long ago about a Jay Gatsby who threw lavish parties for his lover, Daisy. The Tomlinsons’ event, however, has far more well-behaved guests than Mr. Gatsby’s affairs.   
  
Louis mingles and welcomes everyone to his home. He’s soon approached by Mr. Zeller – the mayor of Salzburg – and upon seeing the man, Louis decides to take back the thought that his guests are more dignified than Jay Gatsby’s.   
  
“Hello, Mr. Zeller,” he says, forcing a friendly tone. “This is Baroness Eleanor Calder.”   
  
“Pleasure to meet you, Baroness,” the mayor says.   
  
“How lovely to finally meet you!” she responds.   
  
After a brief but tense conversation, Mr. Zeller finds another couple to talk to. Louis hears him remark, “Did you see the obvious display of the Austrian flag?” and scoffs, finding other guests to talk to.

—

Out in the courtyard, Harry watches over the Tomlinsons, keeping all of the children in check. Charlotte appears to be dancing with an invisible partner.   
  
“Charlotte, dear, who are you dancing with?” he asks.   
  
“Nobody.”   
  
Harry gets up and offers his hand. “May I have this dance, young lady?”   
  
She smiles and nods. They waltz around the dim courtyard to the music coming from inside.   
  
“You’re a very good dancer, Harry,” Ernest comments.   
  
“Thank you.”   
  
A new song begins to play, and Phoebe asks Harry what it is.   
  
“It’s an Austrian folk dance called the Laendler,” he tells her.   
  
“Will you teach me the dance for it?”   
  
“I haven’t danced – or, I haven’t  _ really  _ danced – in years. But, er… I suppose I can try. First, you curtsy and I bow. Then we walk across the dance floor.”   
  
Unsurprisingly, it’s difficult for Harry to teach Phoebe the dance. Their large height difference and her lack of dancing experience turn the whole thing into a bit of a mess, but Harry doesn’t dare tell her that she’s anything other than a wonderful dancer.   
  
“We’ll have to practice more often, Phoebe,” he tells her.   
  
Behind him, Harry hears someone clear their throat.   
  
“Allow me,” Louis says. He beckons for Phoebe to move out of the way and takes Harry’s hand.   
  
Harry assumes Louis has also known the Laendler since he was a child, and the two of them glide through the courtyard with ease as the young Tomlinson children watch eagerly. The two twirl around one another and end up with their hands locked above their heads, faces merely centimeters apart. They’re so close that Harry could easily kiss him if he had the courage. Harry allows himself to gaze into Louis’ stunning blue eyes – which twinkle in the moonlight – for only a moment before comprehending what he’s doing and what it means.   
  
_ I fancy Louis _ , he realizes,  _ and I fancy him quite a lot, at that. _ _   
_   
Blushing furiously, Harry slowly backs away from Louis.   
  
“Your face is pink, Harry,” Félicité comments.   
  
“Is it? Well, I… I-I haven’t danced in a while and… I’m not used to it.” Harry wishes desperately that he could read Louis’ vague expression.   
  
“The two of you make a lovely couple,” Eleanor comments, emerging from within the ballroom, making Harry take back his wish to read Louis and instead wishing to disappear entirely.   
  
“Children!” Harry exclaims, trying to distract everyone. His voice tells all - it trembles with worry. “I think it’s about your bedtime, is it not?”   
  
Louis nods, and the children (though reluctant) do, too.   
  
“Why don’t you go perform the song we rehearsed together before you go?”   
  
All thoughts of Harry vanish when the children run off to the front of the house to sing goodnight to the guests.   
  
The children do a wonderful job, and Harry is bursting with pride. He steals a glance at Louis at the end of the performance and can tell that Louis is also very proud.   
  
Now that the children have gone to bed, Harry decides to leave for his room, as well. He doesn’t fit in with the rest of the guests, especially in the drab governor’s clothes he’s wearing at the moment.   
  
Before Harry can leave, he’s approached by Baroness Calder. Louis is off to the side, arguing with Mr. Zeller. (Harry saw them bickering earlier on in the evening, too.)   
  
“Harry, why don’t you stay?” she asks him.   
  
“I’m not sure I fit in, Baroness.”   
  
“Nonsense!” She calls out for Zayn, the butler. “Zayn, would you set a place at the table next to mine for Mr. Styles?”   
  
Zayn nods and runs off to perform the task.   
  
“I don’t have anything to wear,” Harry says.   
  
“Why don’t you come with me and we can search your wardrobe? I’m sure we’ll find something appropriate for the occasion.”   
  
“Um… alright.”   
  
Hesitantly, Harry lets her lead him upstairs. He can’t help but notice her beauty and how lovely she looks in her dress – he’s not attracted to women, of course, but he can see why Louis is interested.   
  
“Where’s that suit you wore the other night?” she asks when they reach Harry’s room. “When Louis couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.”   
  
Harry looks up quickly. “I beg your pardon?”   
  
“Here’s the suit.” She lays it on the bed. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at one another.”   
  
Harry’s face reddens. “I-I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying…” He trails off.   
  
“After all, nothing’s more irresistible than someone who’s in love with you. You must have seen the way he looks into your eyes, or noticed how you blush around him. I think he might be in love with you, too.”   
  
Guilt weighs heavy on Harry’s shoulders. He’s coming between Louis and the woman he plans to marry. He can’t stay any longer.   
  
“Don’t worry,” Eleanor continues, “I won’t tell anyone you’re... not up-to-code. I’m no monster.”   
  
“I have to leave,” Harry blurts out.   
  
“For what reason?”   
  
“I… I simply must.” Harry packs his few clothes into the bag he traveled to the Tomlinsons’ with.   
  
“Is there anything I can do to help?”   
  
“No, thank you. Please don’t tell Mr. Tomlinson.”   
  
“Of course not. Goodbye, Harry. I’m sure you’ll make a very fine priest.”   
  
“Goodbye, Baroness.”

—

Louis is busy talking with Niall when Eleanor approaches.   
  
“May I have some champagne, darling?” she asks Louis. She’s got a faint smile on her face as Louis pours her the drink. “I feel like celebrating.”   
  
“Why?” Louis asks.   
  
“The party, of course! It’s been lovely.” There’s something hidden behind her expression that Louis can’t quite put a name to.   
  
Louis nods. Niall tells Eleanor she should persuade Harry to convince Louis to let his family perform in the Salzburg Folk Festival.   
  
“Or,” Eleanor suggests, taking a sip of her champagne, “perhaps I’m the one who should be convincing him.”

—

  
As the party continues in full swing, Harry tiptoes towards the grand front doors of the mansion. He feels bad for leaving the children without a governor, but he knows that Eleanor will do just fine once she and Louis are married. Harry’s sudden exit will benefit the Tomlinsons; he knows it will.   
  
Quietly – clutching his bag in one hand and his guitar case in the other – Harry opens one of the front doors and leaves the house. The air outside is warm, and fireflies flicker on the front lawn. With one last glance at the building before him, and with his heart aching painfully, Harry leaves.

 


	2. act ii

“Two.”   
  
“Three.”   
  
“Six.”   
  
“Four.”   
  
“Six.”   
  
“Seven.”   
  
The Tomlinson children and Eleanor pass a ball back and forth. Niall watches from afar. It’s been over a week since Harry disappeared from the children’s lives, and June is soon to become July. Niall misses the governor a bit – he made the children so happy.   
  
“Can we stop now?” he hears one of the children ask Eleanor. “I’m tired.”   
  
“Whatever you want, dear. We’ll play again tomorrow.”   
  
The children sit down on the grass, and Eleanor walks over to Niall.   
  
“I find it hilarious that you’re to be the caretaker of six children,” Niall snickers.   
  
“It’s worth it for the fortune I’ll be receiving when we’re married. Besides, haven’t you ever heard of a little thing called boarding school?”   
  
This makes Niall chuckle again. “You sly fox.”   
  
“Uncle Niall, where’s Louis?” Charlotte questions. She and the rest of the children have come over to him and Eleanor in a huddle.   
  
“Inside, I believe. Why do you all look so down?”   
  
“No reason.”   
  
“Why don’t we have a rehearsal to cheer you up?”   
  
“I don’t want to sing,” Ernest pouts. “Not without Harry.”   
  
“Alright.” Niall sighs, pitying the poor things. “We’ll sing another time.”

—

Louis decides to go outside to check on his siblings. When he sees them, Félicité asks, “Louis! Is it true that Harry isn’t coming back?”   
  
Louis’ heart sinks. He didn’t think he’d miss Harry as much as he does after only a week or so. He wishes Harry would come back just as much as the children do. “Yes, it’s true, I suppose.”   
  
“I don’t believe it!”   
  
“Believe what?”   
  
“That Harry would leave us! He  _ can’t  _ be gone for good.”   
  
“Didn’t I tell you what his note said?” Eleanor cuts in. “He missed his life at the seminary.”   
  
“He didn’t even say goodbye,” Doris adds. She begins to sniffle.   
  
“He did in his note.”   
  
“Louis?” Charlotte turns to him. “Who is our new governor going to be?”   
  
“You’re… well…” Louis forces down any feelings he has for Harry. Both he and his siblings will benefit from a marriage into Eleanor’s family. “You’re not going to have a governor  _ or  _ a governess anymore. Eleanor and I are going to be married. She’ll be looking after you now – we talked about it last night.”   
  
_ The deed is done _ , he thinks. At least he won’t have to worry about money anymore, and Eleanor is pleasant enough that Louis doesn’t think he’ll  _ hate  _ being married to her. She seems to be getting along fairly well with his siblings, too.   
  
To break the silence, Louis tells the children to run off and play.

—

Less than a week after her big brother announced that he and Baroness Calder were to be married, Charlotte finds herself approaching the seminary where Harry resides. A trail of little Tomlinsons follows close behind as Charlotte approaches the front gate. A seminary priest approaches the gate to speak to the children.   
  
“How may I help you?” he asks.   
  
“We’d like to speak to Harry. Harry Styles?”   
  
“I’m afraid Harry is in seclusion at the moment. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone.”   
  
“He’ll want to speak to us,” she persists. “I’m sure of it.”   
  
The other Tomlinsons nod in agreement.   
  
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that can’t happen. You’ll have to come back another time.”   
  
The children protest, but the man walks away.   
  
The Reverend Father – who had been observing the scene – approaches the gate.   
  
“Children, did you say you’d like to see Mr. Styles?” he asks.   
  
They nod.   
  
“He is, as you were told, in seclusion. But, I’ll do my best to tell him you were here. Is that alright?”   
  
Glumly, the children nod again and walk away, leaving the seminary far behind.

—

“Why did the Tomlinsons send you back to us?” the Reverend Father asks, eyeing Harry curiously. Harry feels anxious under his gaze. “You seem happy, yet unhappy at the same time. I thought I might force you out of seclusion to see what might be going on.”   
  
“They…” Harry swallows. “They didn’t send me back. I left of my own volition. I was… confused. I had a bit of a personal dilemma.”   
  
“Harry,” the Reverend says in a stern tone, “this seminary – and priesthood as a whole – is not to be used as an escape from life’s problems.”   
  
“But—”   
  
“Let me ask you this. Are you  _ truly  _ here because you want to become a priest? Or are you hiding from something?”   
  
Harry looks at the floor. He’s hiding from so many things: from Baroness Calder, from his sexual orientation, from the fear that his love is unrequited… and from Louis.   
  
“Look at me,” the Reverend says. Harry does so. “Go back, Harry. Leave the decision up to what’s in your heart.”   
  
“ _ Please _ , Father, let me stay — you can’t ask me to go back—”   
  
“These walls were not built to shut out problems, young man. You must face them with confidence and live the life you were born to live. I think we both know that your life’s truths will not be fulfilled here.”   
  
Harry furrows his brow. He knows the Reverend is right, but he’s not sure whether he has the courage to face Louis Tomlinson again after running away…

—

Louis clears his throat loudly, attempting to slightly intimidate the line of children standing before him in the back garden.   
  
“It really is out-of-character for my siblings to be secretive. And it’s even  _ more  _ out-of-character for you lot to be late to dinner. So, who would like to volunteer to tell me where you’ve been?”   
  
“We told you: we were berry picking and lost track of time,” Félicité answers.   
  
“Ah, yes!  _ Berry picking _ … for the  _ entire  _ afternoon?”   
  
The children all exchange glances.   
  
“We picked thousands!” Daisy pipes up. “ _ Thousands _ of berries.”   
  
“What kind of berries?”   
  
“Blueberries,” Félicité cuts in.   
  
“Blueberries aren’t in season, Félicité.” Louis is beginning to become annoyed with the children.   
  
“Sorry, Louis – they were  _ strawberries _ .”   
  
“And where are these thousands of strawberries now?”   
  
“We ate them!” Ernest replies. Phoebe lightly smacks his arm.   
  
“Well, since you’ve obviously already stuffed yourselves, I suppose you won’t be eating dinner.”   
  
Doris begins to weep softly. Louis is sorry he made her cry, but it’s the only way he’ll ever get any of them to speak.   
  
She begins, ”We w-went to see—”   
  
“HARRY!” Charlotte shouts, pointing towards the road that leads to the back yard. There stands Harry with his bags and a ridiculously handsome smile on his face. He runs towards the children and drops his bags, embracing them tightly. Louis flushes pink.   
  
Harry greets everyone and asks what he’s missed.   
  
“Louis and Baroness Calder are going to be married!” one child exclaims.   
  
“Married?” Harry asks, looking up at Louis but speaking to the children. “He proposed?”   
  
Louis tugs nervously at his shirt collar. “Yes. But, er… children, please go inside for dinner.”   
  
They sigh and do as they’re told. Louis and Harry are left standing alone in the garden.   
  
“You left without saying goodbye,” Louis says after what feels like an eternity of silence. “Even to the children.” Unseen heartbreak echoes in his voice.   
  
Harry stares at the grass. “Please don’t ask me why.”   
  
Louis frowns.   
  
“Harry! You’re back,” Eleanor says, walking up behind Louis. “How wonderful.”   
  
Harry, for a reason that Louis can’t decipher, looks uncomfortable when Eleanor arrives.   
  
“I assume you’re back for good, Harry?” Louis asks.   
  
“No, Sir. Only until you’re able to find a new governor.”   
  
Louis nods solemnly, but he’s upset that Harry won’t be staying. Louis is quite fond of him, as are the other Tomlinsons, and it would be a shame to have to see him go again.   
  
_ Perhaps _ , he thinks,  _ there’s a way to change his mind _ .

—

Later in the evening, Louis stands out on his balcony, leaning against the railing, and looks out over the back garden. The lake is sparkling, and the trees and grass glow under the soft moonlight. By the lake stands Harry. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s wearing his best suit. Louis wonders what’s on his mind. Is Harry thinking about him, too?   
  
“Ah, there you are, Louis.” He hears high heels clack on the stone balcony and approach him from behind.   
  
“Hello, Eleanor,” Louis responds without shifting his gaze away from Harry’s figure.   
  
“The schnitzel at dinner tonight was wonderful.”   
  
“Mhm.”   
  
“You seemed to be enjoying it; you hardly said a word at dinner. Although, perhaps you liked the wine more.”   
  
Louis doesn’t feel like talking to her, but he doesn’t want to be rude, either. However, Eleanor keeps talking before he can say anything.   
  
“I’ve been trying to decide what I might like to get you as a wedding present. You’ve already got a fountain pen, so I decided against it. And a French villa might be difficult to gift-wrap.”   
  
“Eleanor.” Though he has no feelings for her romantically, Louis does care about her, and he can’t stand for her to play this game any longer. He’ll spare her feelings now before their marriage plans can progress at all.   
  
“How do you feel about yachts, Louis?” she continues, ignoring him. “Oh, and we must decide on a place to go on our honeymoon. I’ll think of someplace absolutely wond—”   
  
“Eleanor.” Louis finally makes eye contact with her.   
  
“Yes, Louis?”   
  
“It’s no use. We’re both being dishonest. I… I can’t marry you, and it’s quite unfair of me to force you to marry me when you could be with someone else.”   
  
Eleanor looks at Harry in the garden below and sighs. “I know you love him.”   
  
“What?!”

In a small corner of his mind, Louis has known all along that he’s fallen head over heels for Harry Styles, but the fact had never quite registered until now.

“Please, Louis – I know. And I know he loves you, too. It’s why he left.”   
  
Louis looks between her and Harry. “Are you absolutely sure?”   
  
She laughs dryly. “Why, he practically  _ told  _ me.” Her expression turns somber. “You’re not quite the right man for me, anyway. You’re far too independent. But don’t doubt that I enjoyed myself entirely when we were together.”   
  
He nods.   
  
“…I think I’ll pack my bags and return to Vienna.” She frowns. “Don’t look so conflicted, Louis. We’re both still so young; we should live out our lives with someone we love. Besides,” she sighs, “there’s a man out there for you – a man whom I believe will never, ever be a priest, hard as he tries.”   
  
After a brief silence, she takes Louis’ hands in hers. “ _ Auf Wiedersehen _ , darling.”   
  
She kisses his cheek and retreats into the house.   
  
Louis heaves a great sigh and stares back out over the garden. Harry’s nowhere in sight, so Louis goes out onto the property to search for him.   
  
Several minutes later, he finds him by a bench near the gazebo.   
  
“Ah, Harry,” Louis says, accidentally startling him, “I thought I might find you here.”   
  
“Oh, I apologize. Did you need something?” Harry asks.   
  
“No, not at all.” Louis feels more self-conscious than he’s felt in a long time. “Please, sit.”   
  
They sit next to each other on the bench.   
  
“So… why did you run away?” Louis questions. “And why did you decide to return?”   
  
Harry shifts uncomfortably. “Well, you see, Sir—”   
  
“Please, call me Louis.”   
  
“Oh. I apologize. Anyhow, I had an obligation to fulfill here, and I missed the children dearly.”   
  
“ _ Only _ the children?” He can tell Harry’s not telling the whole truth.   
  
“Um… yes.” Throughout the entire conversation, he’s refused to make eye contact with Louis. His face is flushed in the pale moonlight.   
  
“Hm. You see, I was thinking about it, and… I thought that, perhaps…” He trails off. The silence between them resonates far more than words could ever do.   
  
“What is it, Louis?”   
  
This is the first time, Louis realizes, that he’s ever heard Harry say his name. It sounds beautiful when it leaves Harry’s lips, and it forces Louis to keep talking. It’s unfair to Harry to hide such feelings as the ones Louis is keeping away.   
  
When Louis doesn’t respond to his question, Harry walks over to the gazebo, back turned towards him.   
  
“I thought, Harry, that you could stay with us. Baroness Calder and I cancelled our engagement.”   
  
Harry stops in his tracks, but he doesn’t turn around. “I’m sorry.”   
  
“You are? I’m not.”   
  
“You’re not?”   
  
Louis walks over to Harry and stands in the gazebo with him, facing him.   
  
“Harry, you can’t marry someone when you’re in love with someone else, can you?” he asks.   
  
Harry’s mouth falls open slightly. “No, I suppose not… you know, the Reverend back at the seminary used to say that when the Lord closes a door, a window is opened somewhere else.” For the first time throughout their entire conversation, Harry maintains strong eye contact. Louis feels like he knows more about Harry by simply looking into his eyes than he ever did by talking to him.   
  
“Yes.” Louis takes a small step towards Harry. “What else does the Reverend say?”   
  
“He says… that you should look for your life instead of running away. Climb every mountain, so to speak.”   
  
“Is that why you came back?”   
  
Harry nods.   
  
“And have you found it, Harry? Your life?”   
  
In the soft glow of the moon, Louis reaches a hand up to hold Harry’s cheek in his hand.   
  
“I think—I  _ know  _ I’ve found it.” Harry bites his lip nervously. “I love you.”   
  
Louis’ heart feels like it could burst. Every emotion that he’s felt since Harry arrived at the beginning of the summer comes tumbling,  _ pouring  _ out of him, and he tilts his head up to kiss Harry. When their lips meet, he’s not surprised to find that Harry kisses him back.   
  
“I suppose,” Harry breathes out, after breaking away from their kiss, “I must have done something good with my life, after all, to deserve this.”   
  
“You’ve done everything good. You’re… you’re wonderful, Harry.” He pauses. “Do you know when I think I started falling in love with you? When you sat on that pinecone at the dinner table on the very first night.”   
  
Harry chuckles. “I knew when you started blowing that silly whistle.”   
  
Louis grins and leans in for another kiss. Harry’s lips are soft and gentle, though the kiss slowly intensifies. He can feel Harry’s hot breath against his as his hands wander Harry’s body.   
  
“So, Harry… would you like to live with me? For good?” Louis asks when they manage to tear themselves away from one another.   
  
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”   
  
Louis pulls Harry towards him and embraces him.

—

Later in the evening, Louis lies next to Harry in his pinstripe pajamas, resting his head in his hand and propping himself up with his elbow. His other hand plays with the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck.   
  
“How will we tell your siblings?” Harry asks softly. “The younger ones will want to know why they can’t tell anyone we’re together.”   
  
“We’ll think of something.” A faint smile appears on Louis’ face. “They’ll all be so delighted that you’re staying for good. You already take care of them so well – they love you dearly.” Louis chuckles. “As do I.”   
  
Harry smiles and kisses Louis briefly.   
  
“I’m sorry I can’t offer you the money the Baroness would have,” Harry tells him. “Or the marriage.”   
  
“No, no, I…” Louis sighs. He doesn’t need the Baroness’ money anymore because he knows the Nazis are going to draft him soon, and he’s likely going to have to leave. He’s not sure yet  _ how  _ he’s going to escape them – he’d sooner amputate his own arm at the shoulder than fight on their side – but it will have to happen one way or another.   
  
“You what?”   
  
“Oh – apologies, darling. I was going to say that I don’t need her money anymore. I’d rather be with someone I love. We’ll find a way to keep up the estate on our own.”   
  
He feels terribly guilty about lying to Harry, but until he’s actually drafted, he can’t waste time worrying him.   
  
“This… this may sound silly, but I’ve got quite a bit of money saved for a wedding and a honeymoon that won’t be happening. Would you like to go on honeymoon?” Louis asks.   
  
Harry gasps. “I’d love that! Goodness, I’ve never travelled before – where would we go? Brussels? Paris? Vienna? Right, you’ve already been to Vienna… Anyway, it sounds wonderful.”   
  
“We could see Paris, if you’d like.”   
  
“Perfect.”

—

Niall hates to deceive Louis, but the only way he’ll ever find a group to perform at the Salzburg Folk Festival is if he gets the Tomlinson children to do it. So, while Louis and Harry spend most of July in Paris, Niall – who’s been assigned the role of babysitter – takes the children into Salzburg. He brings them to the stage where the festival will be held and helps them rehearse every day, and the festival is now just hours away. What makes him uneasy, though, is the swarm of cars and soldiers passing behind them, all bearing Nazi flags.   
  
Niall sees Mayor Zeller walking towards him and mutters a curse under his breath. He tells the children to hold for a moment.   
  
“Heil Hitler,” Mr. Zeller says as he approaches.   
  
Niall repeats the phrase under his breath, but loud enough that Mr. Zeller can hear him. It pains him to say it – and Louis would flog him if he found out Niall conformed to Nazi policies in the presence of his siblings – but Niall’s less hot-headed than Louis. He knows that not repeating the phrase could get him arrested or killed.   
  
“Mr. Horan, I’ve just come from Mr. Tomlinson’s estate. The housekeeper told me I might find you here – it was the only thing he’d tell me. It appears Mr. Tomlinson is the only person in the neighborhood who is not displaying the flag of the Third Reich.”   
  
“And?”   
  
“I was wondering when Mr. Tomlinson will be returning.”   
  
“I have no idea, Sir. He hasn’t communicated with me for quite some time.”   
  
Niall tries not to smirk at the perturbed expression on Mr. Zeller’s face.   
  
“Let him know that when he returns,” Mr. Zeller warns, “we’ll be assigning him to his proper position in the new order.” When he sees Niall nod, he adds, “Heil Hitler.”   
  
Once again, Niall begrudgingly echoes Mr. Zeller.   
  
“Come on, children, we’re leaving,” he tells them.   
  
“Why was that man so cross?” Daisy asks. Niall doesn’t want to answer.   
  
“Maybe the flag with the black spider makes people cross,” Ernest suggests.   
  
_ Smart boy _ , Niall thinks.   
  
The children ask more questions about whether or not Louis will be in trouble and whether they’ll really be performing in front of lots of people. Ernest wants to know why his name is last on the program Niall shows them, but Niall stays silent and forces them to keep walking. He’s dreading the scathing lecture he’s going to receive from Louis when he gets home, and he’s sorry he brought the children here today.   
  
“Rolf!” he hears Charlotte exclaim. She runs over to a blond boy her age to say hello. Niall is wary of him – his uniform bears the Third Reich flag. Rolf doesn’t look happy to see Charlotte at all.   
  
“Charlotte, give this telegram to your brother,” Rolf orders.   
  
“He’s away on business,” she replies, taking the piece of paper from him.   
  
“I know.”   
  
“You do?”   
  
“We make it our business to know everything.”   
  
Charlotte looks unnerved, but she takes the telegram and walks away from the boy. She shows it to Niall and tells him what Rolf said.   
  
“Alright; I’ll make sure he gets this,” Niall promises. “Let’s go home.”

—

The first thing Louis notices when he gets home from Paris in the early afternoon is the flag hanging from his house. It’s large and red, with a white circle and a Swastika in the middle. Angrily, he marches out of the car and tears it down, ripping it in half with his bare hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry get out of the car as Louis rips the flag again, then one last time.   
  
“Louis! Harry!” he hears his brother and sisters call out from within the house. He tosses the remains of the flag into the backseat of the car he arrived in, not wanting the children to see it and worry.   
  
The two men embrace the children, kissing their cheeks and asking them how they’ve been.   
  
“We missed you so much!” the children tell them.   
  
“We missed you, too!” Harry replies, sinking down onto his knees so he can give little Doris a hug.   
  
“Did you bring souvenirs?”   
  
Louis answers, “You’ll get souvenirs later.”   
  
“We’re going to be performing in the festival tonight!” Félicité reports. “We’ve been rehearsing every day.”   
  
Louis glares at Niall. He’s standing back by the front door and staring at the ground, nervously tugging at his collar.   
  
Once they’ve all been reacquainted, Louis sends them back to their rooms.   
  
Inside, he and Harry link hands and walk through the front of the house. Zayn approaches them and hands Louis a telegram, and Louis curses.   
  
“What is it?” Harry asks.   
  
“I… I knew this would happen, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I’ve been called to report to the Bremerhaven naval base tomorrow morning. The Germans want me to fight for them.”   
  
Harry’s expression falters. “Why wouldn’t you tell me about this?”   
  
“I didn’t want to worry any of you.” His eyes water, and a hot tear falls down his left cheek. “But refusing to fight for them will get us all killed, and going to Bremerhaven would be against everything I believe in.”   
  
Louis begins to cry and leans his head on Harry’s chest. Harry wraps his arms around him and rubs a hand up and down Louis’ back.   
  
“What are we going to do?” Harry asks.   
  
“Don’t… don’t say anything that will make the children worry, but have them pack their things. We must… leave Austria. At once.”

—

Under cover of darkness, Louis and Niall - followed by Harry and the children - push Louis’ car along in silence.   
  
“It hurts me to think that the children will be missing the festival,” Niall says sadly as he helps them with the car.   
  
“By the time you announce the Tomlinson Family Singers, we’ll be over the border,” Louis assures him.   
  
“Why doesn’t Louis turn the motor on?” Doris asks.   
  
“He doesn’t want anyone to hear us,” Louis hears Harry answer.   
  
“What will Zayn and Liam say?”   
  
“They’ll honestly say that they didn’t know anything about this.”   
  
Charlotte turns to Louis and asks, “Will we ever return here, Louis?”   
  
He sighs heavily. “I hope so.”   
  
Phoebe starts asking whether they’re going to push the car all the way to Switzerland when bright headlights shine onto the Tomlinsons.   
  
“Is there something wrong with your car, Mr. Tomlinson?” Mayor Zeller asks. He’s accompanied by a few cars and several Nazi soldiers.   
  
_ Damn _ , Louis thinks.   
  
“Yes, actually,” he answers. “We couldn’t get it to start.”   
  
“Karl?” Mr. Zeller turns to one of his men. “Please get Mr. Tomlinson’s car to start.”   
  
Reluctantly, Louis hands Karl the keys and watches him start the car.   
  
“Now, Mr. Tomlinson, I’ve yet to ask where you’re going, and you’ve yet to ask me why I am here,” Mr. Zeller continues.   
  
Louis rolls his eyes. “Apparently we both suffer from a deplorable lack of curiosity.”   
  
The mayor ignores him and continues to speak. “I noticed that you haven’t answered your telegram from the Admiral of the Navy of the Third Reich, and I’ve received orders to take you to Bremerhaven tonight to accept your commission.”   
  
“Hm. I thought telegrams in the Austria _ I _ know were kept private. Besides…” Louis does some quick thinking. “My family and I are on our way to perform in the Salzburg Folk Festival tonight. I’m afraid I won’t be able to go with you.”   
  
Niall jumps in and hands Mr. Zeller a program. “See here: ‘The Tomlinson Family Singers’.”   
  
Mr. Zeller, now very annoyed, tells Louis that, yes, he and his family will be able to sing at the festival. However, Louis will be taken to Bremerhaven as soon as the festival is over.   
  
“Now, if you’ll get into your car, we will escort you to the festival,” he finishes.   
  
Louis nods and tells everyone to get into the car. Once they’re in and the windows are shut, Louis speaks quietly to Niall.   
  
“We will perform last,” Louis tells him. “And you will take a  _ very  _ long time to announce the winners of the festival while my family and I escape. Do you understand, Niall?”   
  
Niall nods. “Your family are the winners, anyway, so I will have to announce first place last. That should give you enough time to leave.”   
  
“Thank you.”   
  
They drive in silence until they reach the festival venue.

—

The Tomlinsons finish performing their last group number, and Louis takes the stage alone with Harry’s guitar.   
  
“My fellow Austrians: I shall not be seeing you again, perhaps for a very long time. I would like to sing you…” He glances longingly at his family in the wings, making eye contact with Harry. “…a love song. I know you share this love, and I pray that you will never let it die.”   
  
Louis begins to sing “Edelweiss,” the song he’s known his entire life.   
  
At the end, the lights come down, and Louis runs to Niall in the wings.   
  
“Thank you,” he says one last time.   
  
“I’ll miss you dearly,” Niall tells him, wrapping his arms around Louis and hugging him as tightly as he can, “and I’ll miss the money I could have made on you and your family.”   
  
“I’m going to miss you, too.”   
  
As Niall walks away, Louis herds his family into the car. They drive to the seminary where Harry once lived to hide until Mr. Zeller and his men have disappeared.   
  
“Please, come in,” the Reverend Father tells them, hiding them in the courtyard. “You made the right decision in coming here; you may not have been able to leave in time. Besides, I have been listening to the wires, and the borders have all been closed.”   
  
Louis curses. “We’ll have to drive to the hills and cross the mountains by foot.”   
  
“But, the children—” Harry starts.   
  
“—will be just fine,” Louis interrupts. “We’ll help them.”   
  
Harry nods. He’s got a grim look on his face.   
  
“God be with you,” the Reverend says.   
  
They hide behind a column in the courtyard, and the Reverend locks the gate in front of them to secure them. The Tomlinsons wait silently as Nazi soldiers walk throughout the courtyard, shining flashlights in front of them. A few times, their flashlights come close to illuminating where Louis, Harry, and the children are hiding. One suggests that they search the roof, and all but one leave.   
  
Louis slowly creeps out from his hiding place, despite quiet protests from the others.   
  
“Rolf,” he starts, approaching the boy. Rolf spins around and points his gun at Louis, who puts his hands up.   
  
“It’s you we want, not them,” Rolf tells him, but Louis doesn’t care.   
  
“Put the gun down.”   
  
“Not another move, or I’ll shoot.” The boy’s voice quivers, and his expression isn’t fooling anyone: he’s terrified.   
  
“You’re only a boy. You’re not one of them. Come, run away with us before it’s too late.”   
  
Rolf wavers, seeming as though he might put the gun down. However, he says he’ll kill Louis if he takes another step.   
  
“Rolf,” Louis tries again. He tries desperately to reason with the boy. “You’ll never be one of them.”   
  
Rolf’s expression hardens at this comment. In the blink of an eye, he lowers the gun and blows his whistle.   
  
“ _ Lieutenant _ !” he yells. “Lieutenant, I’ve found them! They’re here!”   
  
“Quickly!” Louis shouts, voice strained. He and the Tomlinsons run out to their car and get inside. Louis hits the gas pedal as hard as he can and drives off towards the hills.

—

When they reach the mountains, the family gets out of the car and begins their journey on foot. Harry remembers what the Reverend told him when he ran away from the Tomlinsons, the bit of advice about climbing every mountain.   
  
He holds Louis’ hand in his.   
  
Louis, of course, Harry would follow over any mountain; over any stream; follow any rainbow. If he  _ must  _ climb this mountain to reach his happy ending, there’s no one he’d rather have by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! my tumblr is [eightiesau](http://eightiesau.tumblr.com) = please come and let me know if you enjoyed this!


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